Brad Hardman was a violent son of a bitch who was about to be eaten alive by dogs. He was tied to a chair. Blood ran down his unshaven face and dripped onto his denim clothes with soft patters. He glared at the two snarling dogs inches away, straining against their chains, muscles rippling and foam flying from their bared teeth.
Teeth clenched, stained red with his own blood, Brad said, “Can we talk about this?”
Gus Donovan had tattoos on his neck and the stature of a professional body builder. The two dogs were on chains in front of Gus who in turn stood behind two overturned desks which created a barrier between him and the dogs. Gus patted the barking dogs and smiled at Brad.
“My dogs are awfully hungry, Brad. I don’t think there’s any time left to talk.”
Brad licked his lips, fighting to remain calm he said, “Please, man. You are making a big mistake. You wanted to scare me. It worked. Now please, use your head. You don’t want to go to prison.”
Donovan shrugged, “Yeah, normally you would be right. But this is the end of the world. I can do pretty much whatever I like and nothing is going to happen to me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean there’s no legal system any more,” Donovan was taking a key off his belt, it was to release the dogs from their chains, “If I kill you there’s no one left to punish me.”
“There’s always police,” said Brad carefully, “Come on, man, this is insane. Let me go.”
“Sure, right after I feed my dogs,” said Donovan.
“Donovan, please –“
“Since the world went mad there’s been a lot of changes, Brad. I even got a new nickname. I’m known as ‘Amputater’ now. Do you want to know why they call me that?”
“That … that’s quite a nickname. Sir.”
Donovan laughed, “I see you’ve learned some respect. The reason I get called Amputater is that I like to take body parts off people. Right before I kill them.”
“Easy, man,” Brad was dripping sweat as well as blood, “I’m a cop. You can’t kill me. The rest of the police force will mercilessly hunt you till they find you and kill you.”
Donovan laughed, “I spent my entire life being scared of cops. But everything has changed now. The old rules don’t apply. I’m going to make you suffer, Brad. See, I got some hamburger meat here. I’m going to spread it all over your crotch, and then I’ll set the dogs on you.”
Brad glanced down, his legs were tied open to the chair.
“Please,” said Brad, “Don’t do this.”
Donovan opened up the cooler box he had been using for a chair. He took out some slices of hamburger meat in transparent paper sheets, carefully unwrapping them. The meat looked very raw. Donovan sniffed it, “Hmm, still fresh. You know, the supermarket hasn’t had meat in days. I got this off the black market.”
Brad stared, eyes wide.
Donovan said, “I think I’m going to film this, too.”
As Donovan reached for his phone Brad said, “Donovan?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re dead.”
“Not likely,” Gus moved from behind the desks, a certain spring in his step. When he stood before Brad he leaned closer to smear the hamburger meat on Brad.
Brad headbutted him as hard as he could, smashing Donovan’s nose, who let out a lifeless kind of sigh, his body going limp. Before the crime lord could hit the deck Brad had leaned forward to clamp down on his face, biting as hard as he could. Drawing blood, Brad tore away Donovan’s lips. The criminal slumped to the floor.
The dogs were going mental, barking and jumping. The chains held.
Brad struggled to get out of the rope, shaking and writhing free, the snarling dogs just inches away, the fear of what they would do to him fuelling his actions. He was aware that Donovan could wake up any moment.
Minutes later the crime lord came to, groggily restored to consciousness. He stared up at the high ceiling of the warehouse. Sections of the roof were missing and let in the night sky. Brad stood over him. Looking down his body Amputater saw that both his legs had been broken. He slowly raised his hands in surrender.
Brad regarded him calmly.
“Wait, man …” Donovan said, “It’s Brad, isn’t it?”
“No,” said Brad, “That’s not what I get called. Call me Sergeant Brad Hardman.”
“Hey, you’re the law. You got to arrest me, take me in.”
“You were going to feed me to those dogs,” Brad said.
Donovan didn’t respond. At least, not until Brad picked up the key to the chains and moved behind the barrier. Donovan realised then that the hamburger meat had been smeared all over his own face.
The padlock snapped open and the dogs were freed. They rushed upon the crime lord, biting, tearing, gouging, powerful necks shaking violently, pulling meat from bone, fed not just on fresh meat but also by the screams and useless flapping urgency of their former master. The ripping of flesh from bones mingled with the savage snarls of the dogs and terrified cries from their former master.
Brad watched with satisfaction while the dogs ate Donovan alive.
Brad reached the table where the crime lord used to work from. It was well organised, surprisingly professional. There were two hunting knives there. He picked one up.
Leaning forward to watch the security cameras Brad saw six armed men on their way up here. The idea of running from a fight didn’t occur to him.
Brad spoke to himself, “The world has been struck mad. People like Donovan can do whatever they want. It’s difficult to stop them because so many people are like him. They understand the old rules don’t apply. That’s why people are living out their violent fantasies.”
Apart from a few twitches Donovan had stopped moving. One of the dogs disengaged from its meal and barking furiously charged Brad. Its long toe nails made scratching noises as it scrambled across the linoleum floor.
At the last moment Brad grabbed the dog by the scruff of its neck and yanked the animal in to the air, driving the knife in to its throat. It made a short, surprised yelp then died.
Brad cast its body away and locked eyes with the remaining dog. Two predators regarding each other across a bloodied battlefield.
After a moment the dog bowed its head, turned tail and ran off. Brad kept his eyes on his opponent until the dog fled out the fire exit and the door slammed shut behind it.
Brad opened a tube of super glue and was pouring out the contents in to each hand. Then he took hold of both knives and squeezed them tight while they fixed to his hands, “This way I won’t lose my grip, no matter how much blood I get on me.”
The door to the stairway was kicked open. It was the Donovan’s foot soldiers, seeking vengeance.
Sergeant Brad grinned, blood still shining fresh on his face, eyes wild, teeth bared, “Alright, you bastards, let’s do this!”
He leapt among the enemy, slashing and stabbing the startled group in great gouts of blood, slicing jugulars, puncturing lungs, relishing the visceral combat and screams of the dying, a savage expert at killing.
Sarah was a slave. When the food shortages and riots began she had done her best to stay inside, only venturing out when it was necessary to search for food or water. There were gangs in the neighbourhood, taking what they wanted and beating anyone they felt like hurting. One such gang had taken Sarah, along with several other women, and locked them in the lower level of the college. There they were forced into prostitution, sometimes for the pleasure of the gang, other times as a source of trade with other groups.
The warehouse of the college was full of pallets wrapped in plastic. The electricity wasn’t working in this part of the city so the only lights were candles and some camping torches. Bare mattresses helped keep the girls off the cold floor but there weren’t enough blankets to go around. Sarah had set up her own small area in a corner of the warehouse, facing the steel shutter door so she could see when one of the gang members was approaching. There was a mirror near her too and makeup and perfume kits, because the girls were expected to maintain their appearance.
At first Sarah had resisted this, preferring to present as unwashed with knotted hair so she would not attract the attention of any men who came to the college, but one of the gang members had punched her in the stomach and forced her head in a toilet almost drowning her, telling her she had better start looking pretty. She had remained clean ever since.
A door opened next to the steel shutter and a blade of light came in.
It was Lynchpin, the leader of the gang. He was a tall, well-dressed man who looked like he should be managing a casino. He had with him two soldiers dressed in blue uniforms. They were men from the United Nations.
Sarah’s heart leapt. It looked like the girls were going to be liberated. What would Lynchpin say to the soldiers, that the girls were here of their own accord, that they chose to prostitute themselves? Certainly some single mothers had latched on to violent criminals, becoming their sex servants in exchange for protection for them and their children, and these women lived very comfortably. But the girls in the college were all here against their will.
Was Lynchpin choosing to cooperate in exchange for leniency? Whatever the case, Sarah was going to tell these soldiers the truth. She didn’t want Lynchpin escaping justice.
Lynchpin stopped with the two soldiers in the middle of the warehouse. Frightened, the girls were paying attention. Lynchpin produced a torch from his belt and turned it on, flashing it about the girls to test it. It was brilliantly dazzling in the gloom but the girls did not turn away. The gang leader handed one of the soldiers the torch.
“Pick whichever girls you want.”
The United Nations soldier grinned sickeningly, “Thanks, man.”
The soldiers picked Sarah and one other girl. Sarah got to her feet willingly, knowing better than to resist. She also held her head high and back straight, knowing exactly how Lynchpin liked the girls to present themselves. The other girl, a nineteen-year-old student, kept her face low, and Sarah was concerned that Lynchpin might beat her for that. Apart from a disapproving look he allowed it. The soldier who had selected her didn’t seem to mind.
The corridor was dirty, lit by camping lights. Old equipment and furniture had been left against the walls. They came to two rooms, formerly offices. Each couple was shown a room, Lynchpin holding the door open and welcoming them to go inside. The room Sarah went to had a mattress on a stack of pallets and a large silk sheet draped over it. There were towels and a bucket of water in the corner. On the carpet was a dark stain as though someone had been killed there. The room smelt awful, despite the car air fresheners hanging from twine stretched across the room. Two candles burned beside the bed.
The soldier was young, bug-eyed with bad teeth. He was looking at her nervous and excited, waiting.
“Help us,” Sarah said quietly.
The United Nations soldier stood up straighter, a real man, “Take your clothes off and get on the bed.”
She searched his eyes, hoping to see salvation in them. There was a sharp crack in the next room and the young woman cried out. It was then Sarah understood this was real, no one was coming to save her.
When it was over and she was cleaned up she was taken to the reception area. It was where the gang congregated and where trade was held. There were barrels stuffed with broken furniture, burning for heat and light. People sat on couches which only weeks earlier had been for students. Now criminals were smoking joints or drinking alcohol.
Lynchpin was puffing on a huge cigar as if to show off. He was seated on a leather chair talking to a man. Although he looked like almost any other criminal something about this stranger set off alarm bells in Sarah’s mind. The man had multiple dressed wounds and yet there was still a sense of extreme danger from him, as though this man was capable of anything.
Lynchpin extended one gold-ringed hand to the stranger, “Folks call me Lynchpin. What do they call you, friend?”
“Brad,” said the stranger, looking down at Lynchpin’s hand but not touching it.
Lynchpin withdrew his hand with mock fright, “Oops! Forgot! Social distancing rules. These are dangerous times, and I definitely don’t want to take any chances.”
“How many girls have you got here?” asked Brad.
“We have six girls on at any one time. Occasionally I will sell one for the right price. One or two proved unsuitable for this work, they couldn’t be recalibrated so they were beaten to within an inch of their lives and let go.”
Brad looked calmly about him, taking in the commerce, not seeing Sarah as she quickly looked away, his eyes moved on. Sarah had a sense that this man was highly aware of his surroundings, like a dangerous predator who was always ready for combat.
Brad said to Lynchpin, “You can continue to recruit girls from your area, as long as you have no more than six at a time. Any more than that and you start to infringe on our other interests, and we will be paying attention. If the Murder Dogs catch you operating outside of your district we’ll kill every one of you. Is that understood?”
Sarah looked discreetly to Lynchpin, understanding this was a conversation she was not supposed to hear, but unable to resist seeing how the gang leader would respond to that threat.
Faintly, Lynchpin smiled, but deep in his eyes there was fear.
“Of course. Whatever you say, sir.”
Brad fixed the gangster with a look that said ‘this is what I really came here to talk about,’ and said, “I need a special favour from you. And this one’s got to be off the books. There’s a certain woman I have to have.”
Lynchpin didn’t miss a beat, “Sure. I can give you one hour with my wife. There’s some nicer rooms upstairs where you’ll feel more comfortable. I’ll go tell her to get ready.”
Such a statement was not strange at all in this new world. Brad said, “That’s not what I meant. There’s a girl here. One who holds significant importance to me. I want to take her with me, and then we can see about negotiating a reward for you.”
Brad held out a photo of Sarah.
Lynchpin said, “I totally understand. I’ll go fetch her for you.”
Other soldiers and criminals were doing business, making trades for cigarettes, alcohol and coffee, or simply paying for time with one of the girls.
Sarah froze where she stood, close enough to recognise the photo of herself. For some reason Brad was tracking her down.
The second in command, Dougy, approached Sarah and the United Nation’s soldiers. Dougy was a particularly violent man who had killed three people before the pandemic had even began. He had a reputation for always getting the jump on his opponents first. The soldier said to Dougy, “I like this one! I’ll be coming back to see her again.”
Dougy said, “She’s all yours. We always need more alcohol and cigarettes, so if you’re paying then this girl will do what she’s told.”
Sarah felt an intense visceral reaction to this soldier who had violated her. She wanted to break his neck. Attempting to do so in a room full of gang members and soldiers would be suicide. She settled for telling him, “You are a disgusting man. You are supposed to be over here helping us, protecting people. You –“
That was as far as Sarah got before Dougy pulled her away by her hair. She screamed, clutching his wrist and only narrowly avoiding being scalped. They drew a few glances from the soldiers as she was dragged to a private room but no one bothered to stop the scene from playing out.
The door slammed shut.
In the secluded room Dougy looked at her with pure venom. Sarah felt for sure she had crossed a line, and the cost would be her life.
“He is a good customer,” Dougy told her, “If I catch you speaking to him again -or anyone- the way you just did I’m going to cut your arms off. And trust me, that won’t stop me putting you to work.”
Sarah believed him. She was trembling violently now.
“I understand … it won’t happen again.”
Dougy looked ready to kill her anyway. He punched her in the stomach -if he hit her in the face she wouldn’t be able to work for a few days. She fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Terrifyingly, she couldn’t draw breath. Dougy helped her up by pulling her hair. Perhaps it was the change in her posture but finally she could draw a trickle of air in to her lungs.
The criminal studied her in the moonlight.
“I don’t like hitting you,” Dougy’s voice was soft, “So don’t make me hit you again, okay?”
He released her and she fell to the floor again. On the floor was clutter and broken plaster, there were some mixed tools and a long shard of glass. This caught her attention. The crushing fear told her to leave it alone, to just be a good girl, that sure, this wasn’t much of a life but it was still life, and if she tried what she was thinking of doing then she would surely be killed. She should just play along. There might be another opportunity later and if there wasn’t then the pandemic couldn’t go on forever. The war had to end one day.
Another voice spoke up in her head, calmly telling her she may never get another chance to escape. It was either escape now or she could go on being a prostitute for these monsters.
Sarah took the jagged shard of glass discreetly and got to her knees.
She brushed the hair off her face and tried to look as alluring as possible, “Do you want to put it in my mouth? Just like last time. I want you to. I want it.”
Dougy grinned, his eyes cruel, and unzipped his trousers. There was a heavy leather belt holding his trousers together and it clinked noisily as he flung his pants open.
Sarah looked from Dougy’s open trousers to his face, which was grinning with his eyes closed. Now! She chose that moment to ram the makeshift shiv into Dougy’s stomach. He gasped with surprise, slowly becoming aware of the situation. There was a confused look on his face as though he couldn’t understand how a small woman, of all people, had gotten the better of him.
The wound in his abdomen was leaking blood, the glass still sticking there. Slowly his expression of shock was changing to anger and fear.
She ran. There was no plan other than to run and keep on running. She vaulted over the broken window and landed outside -outside! – and kept running, certain she would be caught at any moment or else shot in the dark. She ran through the grounds of the college out into the street, to a city she now only vaguely recognised.
Inside the college a door opened and Dougy staggered out, clutching his belly.
“Boss,” he said to Lynchpin, “I’m hurt real bad.”
“Where’s the girl?” Lynchpin roared.
“She got away,” said Dougy.
Lynchpin looked to Brad, more concerned about disappointing him than he was about Dougy’s health, but Brad only looked amused.
“We’ll get her back,” said Brad.
“Are you sure? The city is absolute chaos. Do you want some help finding her?”
“No,” said Brad, “We’re cops. This is what we do.”
